


Just Say Master

by sarkywoman



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-26
Updated: 2007-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/pseuds/sarkywoman
Summary: Written as a request for telepathy sex, with the Doctor thinking he has the upper hand, but not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2007, originally posted to Livejournal.

Once he’d finished his tea, the Doctor would go down to the room where he kept the Master. It was the evening routine now. The mental effort of silencing the drums would knock them both out for the night and get the Master one step closer to sanity. It had been a long three weeks, but the Doctor felt they were making progress. They could actually hold reasonable conversations now. Still couldn’t take the chains off obviously, but hopefully it would be an option soon. 

The Doctor put his empty cup down and started his trip into the depths of the TARDIS, wondering how his ‘guest’ had been today.

*

The Master fought to keep the grin off his face as the Doctor walked into his ‘prison’ and switched off the television. Probably just as well. It was ‘time for tubby bye-bye’ anyway, according to the teletubbies. “You think they actually exist on a messed-up planet in an alternate Universe somewhere?”

The Doctor smiled. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. How have you been today?”

“Bored, mostly,” the Master said, rattling the chains that connected his ankles to the foot of the heavy double bed. “What did you expect?”

“And the drums?” the Doctor said, ignoring the question. 

The Master sighed. “The drums are still there. Yes, they are a little quieter, but nothing to wet your pants over. You know,” he said, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion, “I’m starting to wonder if you’re a real Doctor at all.”

The Doctor just smiled and pulled the sonic screwdriver from his trouser pocket. He’d taken off his coat, tie and trainers for comfort’s sake. He held the sonic screwdriver in the Master’s general direction as he pulled him into the chains at the head of the bed. The Doctor’s guard was down enough so that if he’d wanted, the Master could probably have disarmed him, but he hadn’t planned the move after that, so it would be rather pointless. There were realms of possibilities, but none of them were as deliciously fun as what was actually going to happen once the Master was chained down onto the bed.

He bit his tongue as the Doctor climbed on top of him. Saying ‘kinky’ whenever this happened had only been funny the first fifteen times. The Doctor looked at him with that innocent expression that made the Master want to hurt him in erotic ways. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, as though it mattered.

The Master nodded. “As much as I can be with your weight on top of me.”

“I’ll try to roll off when I’m done,” the Doctor said with a hint of apology. “It’s just, normally the psychic force knocks me out cold and I can’t really control where I land.”

“Just do it. It’s not like your bag-of-bones body could crush me while we slept anyway.” Having to sleep beneath the Doctor was a definite downside of the whole arrangement. The benefits more than made up for that, though.

The Doctor sighed and put his fingers to the Master’s temples. “Just relax now. Let me in.”

“You don’t have to tell me what to do,” the Master said with an exasperated glare, “this will be the seventeenth time.”

“You’ve been counting?” The Doctor asked, surprised.

“If only I had a stone to scratch the days of my confinement into the walls,” the Master said dryly.

The Doctor sighed again. “Shut up and let me in.”

The Master relaxed his surface mental defences, the same as every other night. Closed his eyes to concentrate on the feel of the Doctor tentatively moving into his mind. It always made him think of a fancy house, a large garden, with the Doctor walking slowly and warily up the drive to the front door. 

Carefully, so as not to be detected, the Master closed the gates behind the Doctor. Invited him further in. The Doctor, naïve optimist that he was, wandered deeper into the labyrinth of the Master’s mind, into the grand house of thought. The Master opened doors, ushered him through. Kept him away from the private rooms. Took him down corridors that vibrated with drum beats, to the room where it was a deafening pounding. The room with the void, constantly beating out the call to war. And the Doctor kneeled before it with a sonic screwdriver composed entirely out of psychic energy and started to work. What it was he did, the Master had yet to fathom. He couldn’t honestly say he cared. He just left the Doctor to it and closed the door. Locked it up tight behind him. The guard unwittingly became the prisoner.

The Master opened his eyes, smiling at the closed eyes of the Doctor. Deep in concentration, deep in the Master’s mind. Body vacant and pliable. He leant his head up and murmured softly into one ear, “let me free.”

The Doctor’s eyes blinked open sleepily and, with a look of dreamy confusion, reached up with sonic screwdriver and clumsily cut the chains. The Master sighed contentedly at the freedom. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He flipped them over so the Doctor was beneath him, still that adorable look of puzzlement on his pretty features. He couldn’t possibly understand what was going on, not while most of his faculties remained locked up inside the Master’s head. All the Doctor had to guide his body now was instinct, and pleasure would most definitely win out.

The Master spoke while unbuttoning the man’s shirt. “It’s terribly tempting to tell you I’m doing this, you know. Just one morning when we wake up together, to throw out a remark like, ‘good fuck last night’, and see what you say. If you believe me, or if you hate me for it.” He dropped the shirt to the floor and playfully licked at the Doctor’s nipple, eliciting a happy moan from the Timelord. “But then you might not come back. And what would I do for fun then, hmm?” He glanced down and tutted. “A belt. How irritating. Makes me want to take it off and whip you with it.” He drew in a deep breath at the thought. “But I mustn’t leave any marks.” He ran his fingers gently over the Doctor’s chest. “Pity.”

He grabbed the man’s wrists and pressed them up into the pillow. “Call me Master.” Asking the Doctor to say his name while he was like this only earned a look of bewilderment, so the Master found he had to be more specific.

“Master.”

The Master groaned and rocked his erection up against the Doctor’s clothed cock. Both men were only wearing their trousers now.

“Again.”

“Master.”

“Fuck,” the Master whispered. It thrilled him to the very core of his being to hear it. He glanced again at the trousers keeping their sensitive skin apart. Looked at the belt again and licked his lips. It was no good, he knew his own limits and he couldn’t trust himself to remove that belt and not use it for sadistic and erotic purposes. And if he left any marks it was game over.

“Looks like we’re playing with our clothes on,” he said to the Doctor, who was grinding up against him needy and shameless. The body knew what it wanted. “Never mind, it’s all fun.”

He pressed his mind into the body beneath him, feeling the void where the Doctor’s alert mind should have been. With an expert touch, he fired up all the pleasure receptors, making the Doctor arch up against him in bliss. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Say my name.” He groaned with exasperation when the Doctor’s dark eyes looked at him with confusion and lust. “Master. Just say Master.”

“Master,” the Doctor gasped out as the Timelord ran their minds together again. “Master, Master…”

“Mmm.” The Master licked his lips and kissed his captive passionately. “I could keep you like this. Dependent on me, following the pleasure.” The way the Doctor rubbed up against him at every mental thrust was going to be his undoing. 

He stroked again with his thoughts, drawing in a deep breath at the sensation of possession. While the Doctor’s strength and coherency were absent, the mind still retained its innocent goodness. It was like plunging into a warm lake over and over. The Master bathed in the purity, washed off his sins. And all the while he touched the right places inside the Doctor’s head, making the other Timelord whimper and writhe in beautiful ecstasy. 

The Doctor threw his head back, exposing his throat. The Master wanted to kiss the skin, but knew he would only ending biting instead. And if the Doctor knew, if he ever saw any trace of the Master on his body, it would taint everything and the Master could never taste his purity again. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. The Doctor had to return to him, every night, and unknowingly relinquish his body. The lamb to the wolf. 

“You’d probably do it willingly, wouldn’t you?” The Master murmured against the Doctor’s panting mouth. “I wish it was masochism. That would make things so much easier. But it’s martyrdom.” He grit his teeth, angry at the Doctor for being so fucking forgiving and angry at himself for thinking about it. Viciously, he pushed as hard as he could against what remained of the Doctor’s mind, pressing every pleasure and pain receptor as hard as he could.

The Doctor screamed as he came, the sound and spasm dragging an unexpected climax out of the Master.

He lay on top of the Doctor’s shaking body for a few moments, trying to gather himself. He raised his head to look at the Doctor’s pretty face. There were tears tracks reaching down to the pillow on either side of his closed eyes, so the Master wiped them away with the blanket. The poor sod was unconscious. The Master reached down and picked up the shirt, manhandling the Doctor’s arms into it then buttoning it up. The first night the Master had manipulated the situation in this way he’d been in two minds over whether to clean up the evidence of orgasm or not. He’d chosen not to, happy to let the Doctor think the mental feedback caused it. This resulted in a quick and embarrassed departure every morning which was very cute.

The Master lay down on the bed and pulled the Doctor’s body on top of his, frowning at the unwelcome weight. Then he closed his eyes and pictured opening the door to the drum room, where the psychic representation of the Doctor was unconscious beside the roaring eternal void. It looked almost like he had fallen asleep beside the raw power of time and space. Definitely a Kodak moment. He left the door open so the Doctor would escape in the morning, thinking he’d passed out doing whatever he was doing. He’d never suspect a psychic surge from his body was the culprit.

The Master opened his eyes and got back to business, using the sonic screwdriver to reattach his chains. Then he watched the Doctor ‘sleep’ for a while, wondering how long this hobby of his would stave off the boredom of captivity.

*

The Doctor woke up to the relaxing rhythm of a double heartbeat and immediately knew where he was. When he raised his head, he saw the Master looking down at him. He’d like to fool himself into believing there had been something other than hatred in the other Timelord’s eyes, but knew that was a fantasy.

“You’re awake, now get off me.”

The Doctor quickly rolled off of the Master’s body, noticing the uncomfortable feeling of a night-time orgasm in his pants. Maybe it was something to do with the psychic link and the void energies, because he’d had the same problem every night he’d done this.

“The drums?” he asked hopefully.

“Still there,” the Master said, not looking too bothered.

The Doctor sighed. “Guess I’ll be back tonight then.”

The Master just grinned at him. “Looks like.”

The Doctor shook his head despairingly as he locked his prisoner in. You’d almost think he didn’t want to be cured.


End file.
